


Weep

by happywitch416



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Goodbyes are hard, Implied Sexual Content, canon ending for Thorin, romantic gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywitch416/pseuds/happywitch416
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Reader
Kudos: 18





	Weep

He will come to you, as he has many nights through the years. After late nights talking, planning for the future of his people while staring white knuckled at the past. A kingdom of exiles, wanderers, the lost of the Blue Mountains they all looked back, ever back to the Lonely Mountain. His sky blue hood hangs by your door, its silver tassel catching the glint of firelight. Silver suits him better than his father and grandfather's gold, a king who tempers his greed with the needs of his people, the needs of you.

You smile as you pick up the silver hairbrush, one of Thorin's rare gifts made all the more special by the times he has ran it through your hair himself, always marveling at its softness, his fingers tangling in the braids. You both have grey curling through coal-black strands now and it suits him, lends his arrogance the temperance of time. 

You fidget, slamming down the brush harder than you mean to as you jump to your feet. Fingers curl around each other as you pace. In all your travels you had grown to love the night sky, how it reminded you of glowing gem-studded stone on late nights in Erebor, when this was all still new. When dreams were still fire bright and waiting for them.

A soft knock stills you before he comes softly through the door almost sheepish for all his bravado. "I hope I did not keep you."

A familiar dance as you shake your head, smiling but feeling it catch. "Of course not, Thorin." He pulls you to him and kisses you gently. "All of your plans in order?"

"As much as can be. More responded to my call then I thought, perhaps more will join me from the Iron Hills." Gently you sway to music only he hears, his mind playing the harp, his fingers tapping gently against your waist as you settle your head against his chest. The smell of smoke, of anvil and sword mix with the smell of him, like deep earth, tempered and strong.

He tilts your chin up, fingers gentle against your skin even with the calluses of hard work and harder battles. "When I return." You set a finger against his lips.

"Shh." You want to ask him to stay, to find a new dream, but you don’t. It's not just for his own sake, it is for your people and you will not weep and make these last moments less sweet. "Don't make me promises you don't know if you can keep."

"As I promised you." His hands are in your hair, cupping your face, everywhere all at once as you both ignore the coming dawn. 

You gently caress his face as you lie exhausted and spent in your bed, brushing his hair back out of his face. "Be safe, my king." 

He is gone in the morning, his warmth, his hood, his shield. But the little reminders remain, his dress boots and extra shirts, his harp. Your chest aches and you clench your hands to it, trying to still your beating heart but they light against something new. A gold chain draped around your neck, settling across the dip in your collarbone and you do not weep. A promise never made aloud is still a promise to keep.

You return to the Lonely Mountain, the kingdom of your birth, home. The rumors you have heard are plenty, pitying looks when they think you can’t see. But you refuse to believe, refuse to set down your life until you come to the mountain and its stone. 

Here lies Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain. And it is here you weep.


End file.
